


Ink-black strands

by killthecouncil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and yes it's first-person pov rip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23594491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killthecouncil/pseuds/killthecouncil
Summary: "“... James,” he eventually spoke, breathily, and only when I realized that I felt his words on my face, his breath against my mouth, did I notice how close we’d been getting. Only an inch of distance was between us, an inch between my lips and his, his dark, now half-lidded eyes and mine."
Relationships: Sirius Black/James Potter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	Ink-black strands

“Your hair isn’t black,” I murmured. The book in his hands lost the attention it’d been getting, and instead it was given to me. 

“What?” Sirius spoke, silently. Sirius was rarely ever  _ silent _ .

I reached out my right hand and caught a strand between my index finger and thumb, twiddling it with passive fascination. “James, what are you doing?” Sirius mumbled, but let me. I held the strand close to his face, and his eyes crossed slightly when he focused his gaze on it. Somehow, it didn’t look stupid, only cute.

“Your hair. It isn’t black,” I clarified, without presenting any new information. He tilted his head. That was also cute, and his hair moved with him, catching light in new, different places and ways than before. “It’s… When the sun shines on it, it becomes brown, sort of. I like it.”

“O-oh,” he responded, cheeks growing darker and eyes shifting. “Thank you?” 

I smiled. “Mhmm.” 

I didn’t release the strand. Instead, I looked at it more closely. “... James,” he eventually spoke, breathily, and only when I realized that I felt his words on my face, his breath against my mouth, did I notice how close we’d been getting. Only an inch of distance was between us, an inch between my lips and his, his dark, now half-lidded eyes and mine. 

Only a few seconds later did they fall shut, and I gave into the urge to have his lips on my own.

One second, we were still, the other we moved. I didn’t let go of his hair, only took more of it into my hold, making sure I wasn’t pulling on it. But then his tooth grazed my bottom lip, and my concentration slipped, and I accidentally tugged on some of his hair, and he made a beautiful sound; a soft, almost nonexistent sound against my mouth, and for a second I almost believed that I had imagined it, but I  _ had  _ heard it, felt it, even.

We parted, because I had to see him like this. His eyes couldn’t bring themselves to open properly, and he was looking at my lips more than he managed to look into my eyes, and there was  _ want  _ in his gaze, he  _ wanted  _ me, and that was everything I’d wished for, really. I was going to make him make that sound again.

I tugged on his hair, gently, while tangling the fingers on my other hand into more of his curls. His next breath was shaky. Then, something akin to the sound from before, and those tingles I was becoming addicted to moved up my spine, spreading through my veins and making it difficult to move, difficult to  _ not  _ move and kiss him again.

Everything was difficult; difficult to fathom, to comprehend, to understand, and my mind struggled with this until Sirius got tired of waiting and took initiative, putting his lips back where they  _ belonged  _ and I made sure they felt at home there.

I fumbled at my side, then finally I found a pillow and placed it behind him. I pushed on him, not too hard, not so hard that he couldn’t push back and remain upright. Just hard enough that he’d understand what I wanted, and he did, falling back on the pillow I’d prepared, and I moved on top of him, and before was great but this was also (“Is this okay?” - “Yeah. Yeah, this is okay”) great.

There was a boy lying below me. There was a boy, and I was hovering above him. There was  _ the  _ boy, and he was exactly where I wanted him to be. 

His hands, which had been laying limply at his sides, moved up to rest on my hips, palms pressed against my sides, not holding, but then they were holding, clenching around the fabric of my shirt when I did something he thought was good and he made sounds that I thought were absolutely perfect, and I needed more, of him, of all of this. But even in the moment did I realize that the curve shouldn’t grow too steep, should we not want to fall off.

I moved my face from his, moved up, and his lips chased mine until they couldn’t, and his head fell back against the pillow. He made a peeved noise, a small, annoyed one, and I chuckled. 

For a few seconds I could just look at him, because his eyes were closed and he wouldn’t know. The blush from before hadn’t faded. His cheeks were the shade of pink roses I’d seen in a garden once, and I wished I could give some of those to him. (One day, I might.) His hair, his dark, soft, long, not-black-but-brown hair was spread out over the pillow, the white pillow.

He looked like forever.


End file.
